


Indulgentia

by vienn_peridot



Series: Little Petshop of Horrors [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, Master/Pet, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Pet Play, Sleepy Cuddles, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wet & Messy, drift is a little SHIT, oh god so much fluff, pet!Drift, these two idiots are going to kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7346536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic comes in two loosely-related pieces that could stand alone but I'm lazy and just want to shove them together.<br/>Read whichever one takes your fancy. Or both. Or neither. *shrug*</p><p><b>The Fluff:</b><br/>They agreed on a quiet night. Drifter doesn't seem to have gotten a memo. Turns out he was just being sneaky.</p><p><b> The Smut:</b><br/>After some pampering they end up back in berth and feeling frisky. Drift decides to thank Ratchet for the mounting training but ends up getting more than he bargained for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fluff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kuukkeli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/gifts), [SparkBeat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkBeat/gifts).



# Chapter One: The Fluff

 

Ratchet was exhausted. After two long weeks of nonstop emergencies and putting mechs back together from scrap metal and spark chambers he ached all the way through to his struts. It was all he could do to indulge both Drift and himself in a very quiet night of play.

At least, they had _agreed_ on a quiet night.

_Cheeky little slagger._

All Ratchet wanted right now was a warm lapful of purring mech to cuddle.

Instead of cuddling, however, Drift was scuttling around their hab with so much energy and enthusiasm that Ratchet almost thought it was obscene; just tired enough to suspect genuine possession or something of the sort as kneepads scuffled and armour clicked, Drift deliberately wiggling his aft as he moved so his tail swept through the air behind him in a wide, happy arc. He was obviously having fun so Ratchet was reluctant to interrupt him, willing to watch with an empty lap for now while Drift entertained himself.

And entertain himself he certainly did.

Over the last hour or so Drifter had dragged all sorts of random things over to where Ratchet lay sprawled on the couch. When delivering these items Drifter was perfectly happy to submit to pats and _whuffed_ smugly when Ratchet thanked him quietly for each trophy. But _every single time_ Ratchet tried to entice Drifter up onto the couch he was ignored, greeted with a polished aft and the sight of a wagging tail as his pet went in search of something else to bring him. Ratchet let him be, figuring they could always cuddle after playtime. He wasn’t really sure _what_ Drift’s aim was with the collection anyway. It _might_ have been a weird attempt to cheer Ratchet up, but it was equally likely that Drifter was just trying to get an amusing reaction out of him.

In any case, Ratchet now had beside him: a small stack of datapads adorned with damp patches and tiny marks from Drift’s denta, the support pillow from Ratchet’s chair in their home office, several of Drifter’s favourite comfort toys and even the blanket from his crate.

By the point the blanket showed up Ratchet finally decided he would just have to entertain Drift himself in order to thwart this strange and sudden generosity, otherwise tidy-up could take all slagging night. With this in mind, he pulled the treat ball from subspace and loaded the reward chamber before rolling it right at the speedster.

For the first time ever, Ratchet’s guaranteed Drifter-distractor actually _failed_.

It rolled across the room, fetched up against the wall and stayed there. Drift ignored it completely. In fact _he trotted right past it_ with finials perked up, fluffy tail waving merrily behind him as he headed into their berthroom.

 _What the frag is he getting up to_ now?

Rustling, soft growls and grunting sounds had Ratchet pushing his weary frame up off the couch and heading for the berthroom, only to find Drift trying to tug the heavy top cover off their berth with nothing but his denta. The speedster’s finials were pinned flat to his helm as he grunted and growled with the effort of pulling the heavy cover off.

“Drifter, _drop it_.” Ratchet commanded, earning instant obedience but no contrition. “What’s gotten into you tonight, boy?” He demanded as he stalked over to fix the berth covers.

Mischief and triumph flashed across Drift’s faceplates as he darted forward to wind around Ratchet’s legs as best he could, making happy conversational growling sounds in his throat as their armour plates slid together. Then when Ratchet was off-balance from trying not to step on his mate Drift twisted around and darted back to cross in front of him, neatly tripping Ratchet so he fell onto the berth.

Spluttering indignantly at the trick, Ratchet let himself fall. Thanks to Drift’s obsession with soft bedding their berth was so covered in padding and blankets that faceplanting on it wouldn’t hurt him at all.

It was a struggle to get up. All he wanted to do was lie there, and maybe nap.

But napping would mean missing out on playtime. No way in the Pit was he going to do that.

Ratchet rolled to his back, pushed himself up onto his elbows and suddenly Drifter was there, grumble-growling happily as he sprawled out across Ratchet’s lower belly and pinned him firmly to the berth.

Experimentally, Ratchet tried to push himself up and found that Drift had placed himself in the perfect position to control his centre of gravity.

Ratchet wasn’t going _anywhere_ until Drift decided to let him.

_Sneaky glitch._

In response to this attempt to get up, Drift settled himself more securely atop Ratchet, tucking his finials back and butting at his hand. He was making those hopeful little chirping noises that Ratchet was powerless to resist at the best of times. Sighing, Ratchet rubbed at Drift’s helm crest and received a loud purr, Drifter’s paw-mittens beginning to knead at the berth. Giving in, Ratchet let his helm fall back to the soft embrace of the berth as Drift’s happy rumbling worked magically to relax every tense cable in his tired frame.

“Alright boy, you win. You’ve got me.” Ratchet filled his voice with fondness as he continued to rub Drifter’s helm crest. “Just don’t drool all over me this time, ok?”

Drift gave him a sly look out of the corner of his optics but made an agreeable chuffing sound as he settled down.

## ~V~!~V~

“Just don’t drool all over me this time, ok?”

Drift remembered the incident Ratchet was referring to all too well, changing his laugh to a wordless sound of assent at the last second.

Warm air flowed over his armour as Ratchet sighed and relaxed back onto their berth, fingers moving down from Drift’s helm crest to rub at the cables of his neck. He could feel Ratchet relaxing beneath his belly, the tension that never quite seemed to leave his mate’s frame decreasing slightly as he resigned himself to the situation.

Delighted, Drift settled himself more comfortably across Ratchet and grumbled happily, finials relaxing as Ratchet worked on his neck cables. When he’d had enough of that he chirred and shook his helm invitingly, letting his finials wiggle to show where he wanted attention next. Ratchet chuckled and obligingly moved on to slow, delicious finial rubs that had Drifter limp, relaxed and purring in moments. When he came in here his original plan _had_ been to drag the duvet out to Ratchet and snuggle on the couch. With the datapads and everything else he’d collected for his master they wouldn’t have had to move for a very long time.

_This is better. He can fall asleep here and I won’t have to wake him up to move him to berth._

Time slowed and stretched as they cuddled, Drift purring and gently patting at Ratchet’s arm or side with a paw-mitten whenever the petting was particularly nice. Eventually he just draped one arm right over Ratchet’s broad chest and relaxed, perfectly content with the situation. Sooner than he thought possible Drift could feel Ratchet fighting off recharge. By this time Ratchet had his arms draped around Drift’s frame, holding him close so Drift could clearly hear how the ambulance’s systems would begin settling into resting rhythms and then hitch a little as Ratchet forced himself awake again. Drift paid no attention to it the first few times, until those nice warm arms holding him slid reluctantly from around his frame and gently tried to push him off.

“’M gonna fall asleep if we stay here, Drifter.” Ratchet’s voice was a reluctant, recharge-roughened murmur that sent sparkles of warmth dancing through Drift’s spark.

The _last_ thing he wanted to do right now was let Ratchet up.

Defiantly, Drift wriggled around so that he was sprawled properly over his master, helm tucked beneath Ratchet’s chin, chest on chest, aft off to one side of Ratchet’s hips and legs draped over Ratchet’s thighs so he had his master well and truly trapped.

_Unless he wants to be rude and shove me off. Then I’ll sulk._

“Drifter.” Ratchet sounded a little more awake now, his tone not quite a warning.

Cuddling closer, Drift flattened his finials appeasingly and kneaded at the side of Ratchet’s chest with his paw-mittens. When Ratchet raised an optic ridge at him Drift gave his best pleading turbobpup optics, twitching one finial as cutely as he could.

“ _Nooooooooooooooo_.” He kept his voice quiet, drawing the word out so it was more a low whine than actual speech.

“Brat.” Ratchet growled the word like an endearment, wrapping his arms around Drift again, stroking idly at smooth dorsal armour. “Alright; a few more minutes, then.”

Victorious, Drift purred louder and wriggled higher to nuzzle his nasal ridge into the crook of Ratchet’s neck. Sighing happily, he filled his chemoreceptors with the scent of Ratchet and their berthroom, rolling his engine in a happy pattern he knew Ratchet particularly liked. A sleepy chuckle reverberated through the frame beneath him, fingers on his spine gradually slowing their movements as Ratchet drifted back towards recharge.

Tucked into his master’s side, warm and safe in Ratchet’s embrace, Drifter was so happy he didn’t even bother trying to control the noises that spilled from his vocaliser; a steady stream of low grumbling growls, purrs and occasional happy chirrups that, if overheard, would have him gladly eviscerating _anyone_ who dared to eavesdrop on them.

_Only for him._

Even though he might keep Ratchet awake, Drift felt almost compelled to voice the happiness filling his frame or risk having his spark explode from sheer joy. Times like this were rare. Ratchet rarely let his guard down enough to genuinely indulge in this kind of snuggling even during the playtimes they scheduled specifically for it. The mech was just too busy watching Drift and making sure that he was enjoying himself to really let go and just _be_ and enjoy the opportunity to unwind. Right now it was clear to Drift that Ratchet wasn’t worrying, wasn’t monitoring or analysing. He was more peaceful than Drift had ever seen him while awake, holding Drifter and stroking the speedster as he snuggled as close as he could possibly get.

Drift shifted a little, adjusting their kibble to a slightly more comfortable position. While doing so he glanced at Ratchet’s face and was stunned into stillness by the beatific smile on his mate’s faceplates. He tried to engrave that expression in his long-term memory as his own cheeks ached from what felt like an extremely goofy grin. His change in position roused Ratchet a little, dragging the tired mech back from the edge of recharge.

“Drifter, move.” Ratchet mumbled, fingers skittering over Drift’s plating as he tried to rid himself of his speedster blanket.

Grinning to himself, Drift nuzzled gently at Ratchet’s cheek with his nasal ridge. Ratchet didn’t even open his optics.

“ _Noooooooo_.” Drift crooned the sound right next to Ratchet’s audial.

The only response was a long sigh as Ratchet slid into deep recharge right then and there; with his legs half-off the berth and Drift still in his pet gear, sprawled out on top of him. Drift waited, watching how the lines of stress on Ratchet’s face softened in sleep and his lipplates stayed tilted upwards in a lingering reminder of the glorious smile he’d worn earlier. He nuzzled Ratchet’s cheek fondly before tucking his face back into the comfortable gap between his mate’s shoulder armour and neck.

_Just a few more minutes…_

When he figured it was safe to move without waking the other mech, Drift kissed Ratchet’s cheek and eased out of the loose embrace. Slowly and carefully he slid his mate properly onto the berth, tucking a light cover over Ratchet’s strong frame to keep him warm while Drift quickly stripped off his pet gear and put it away.

When Drift tried to crawl into berth without disturbing Ratchet he was greeted with dimly-lit optics blue optics over a wry smile and pulled into a sleepy embrace. Ratchet nodded off again even as he kissed Drift’s forehelm, murmuring glyphs that Drift didn’t need to be able to hear to understand.

“Love you too, Ratch.” Drift whispered, feeling his spark expanding to fill his entire frame.

Pressing himself as close to Ratchet as he could, Drift sighed happily and allowed his systems to cycle down, joining his mate in recharge.


	2. The Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some pampering they end up back in berth and feeling frisky.  
> Drift decides to thank Ratchet for the mounting training but ends up getting more than he bargained for...

****

# Chapter Two: The Smut

 

After a long recharge and several hours in an oil pool Ratchet was once again pinned beneath Drift as the speedster slowly massaged away the lingering tension in his cables and resettled jammed and misaligned armour plates. Ratchet was practically purring by the time Drift finished, rolling over and lazily pulling Drift down into a kiss as he tried to wipe massage oil from his hands. He hovered awkwardly just long enough to get the job more-or-less done before lowering himself to kiss Ratchet properly.

Their kisses started lazy and slow, with soft lipplates and the occasional teasing glossa darting out to flick across tingling dermal metal. Drift braced his elbows on either side of Ratchet’s helm and tried to ignore the fingers tracing slow paths up and down his back. The way his mate skimmed over transformation seams was _very_ distracting. Almost as distracting was the way Ratchet began to move beneath him, deepening the kisses as he arched deliberately, scraping his chestplate and pelvic armour against Drift’s frame in delicious ways, engine revving hard.

_And_ I’m _supposed to be the impatient one!_

Suddenly strong legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him down. Drift’s engine revved hard when he felt the exposed folds of Ratchet’s valve rub against the armour covering his spike housing.

_Fragging Primus!_

“No messing around.” Ratchet growled as he ground himself up against Drift, smearing lubricant all over his clean white armour. “Need you _now_.”

“Bossy.” Drift whispered against Ratchet’s chevron as he allowed his spike to pressurise, rolling his hips to drag his shaft through Ratchet’s folds.

“You lo-love it.” Ratchet’s retort was breathy, ruined by a gasp halfway through. It obviously not the quality of snark he had been aiming for, because the ambulance wrinkled his nasal ridge in annoyance.

_Too much talking; not enough moaning my name._

Drift rolled his hips again, watching the medic’s optics flare with lust. When Ratchet had control over his vocaliser again he began moaning the way Drift loved, so he continued to tease his mate until the moans turned into threats of dire consequences if he didn’t get spiked _right fragging now_.

Always happy to oblige, Drift raised his hips a little and reached down between their frames to line himself up with Ratchet’s entrance, activating a code command on his HUD as he did so. He smirked as he slid into the welcoming heat of Ratchet’s valve, kissing the medic deeply and swallowing his mate’s satisfied moan. Drift began to thrust fast and hard, mentally counting down the thrusts until the modified code would activate his knot. Ratchet broke the kiss, throwing his helm back and baring his throat cabling to gentle nips of Drift’s denta.

“Yes, just like that.” Ratchet groaned, arching shamelessly into Drift’s pounding. “Do me _hard_.”

“Frag Ratchet, you feel so good.” Drift panted, feeling tell-tale tingling pressure low in his pelvic housing signalling that his mod was close to automatic activation. “Don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“ _Give it to me_.” Ratchet growled, digging his fingers into the seams of Drift’s backplates, pulling him close.

Never able to resist that order, Drift slammed his hips into Ratchet once, twice more and rumbled through a minor overload as the modified coding activated. His knot expanded, locking him in place inside Ratchet’s valve. When his knot could enlarge no further Drift ejaculated a hot burst of fluid into his unsatisfied mate, the volume not _quite_ enough to set Ratchet off.

Drift dropped his weight onto the strong frame below him and relaxed, pretending to be more tired than he actually was. He could feel Ratchet’s arousal-swollen spark raging away beneath his helm, the medic’s sturdy frame still burning with unreleased charge. By the way his armour was twitching Ratchet was obviously _desperate_ to get off but his innate consideration kept him from rolling the supposedly overworked speedster over so he could get at himself to finish the job.

“Sorry Ratch.” Drift said apologetically, projecting shame and contrition. “As soon as this goes down I’ll make it up to you.” He ground his hips into the medic’s a few times to illustrate what he meant. “I promise. It won’t take long.”

Gentle hands ran down his backplates, reassuring and comforting.

“Alright. I can survive that long.” Ratchet murmured. “I do enjoy denial games.”

Drift couldn’t help himself; he purred and raised his helm to smirk at his mate. “ _I know_.”

Ratchet wasn’t stupid. It took him all of two seconds to work it out, what with how Drift’s spike still hard and throbbing within him.

“You little _slagger_.” He growled, optics narrowing. “This is revenge for the mounting training, isn’t it.”

Drift propped himself up on his elbows, grinning fit to split his face.

“ _May_ be. It _could_ be.” He said cheekily, tracing looping patterns over the smooth glass of Ratchet’s chestplates with a gentle finger as his knot started to deflate. “Or it could be me _thanking_ you for the training sessions. You want me to keep going or should I disengage the code and flip you over for a good hard pounding?”

“Oh frag no,” Ratchet flexed his callipers around Drift’s spike, checking the slowly decreasing girth of his knot. “You know what you’re doing and I want to see where this goes.”

“ _Excellent_.” Drift said as his knot finished deflating. “Let’s get to it, then.”

The look of surprise and annoyance on Ratchet’s face as Drift withdrew from his valve was hilarious, forcing Drift to hide his grin by kissing his way down Ratchet’s frame until he was lying between the medic’s legs with his face hovering over Ratchet’s flushed and gleaming valve. Before his mate could voice a complaint Drift lowered his helm to give the foremost external sensory nub a gentle kiss then got to work licking up the combination of lubricant and his own fluids leaking from Ratchet’s valve. He let his optics slide offline, humming with enjoyment as Ratchet moaned and writhed under his glossa.

Ratchet’s callipers cycled as Drift worked, forcing thick pulses of liquid out to dribble through his folds before Drift licked them away, moaning with unashamed enjoyment. The way their flavours mingled on his glossa was intoxicating and Drift struggled to remember not to overload his mate, forcing himself to back off whenever those red hips started rising up to meet him with more urgency.

When he couldn’t ignore the demands of his spike any longer Drift crawled up Ratchet’s frame and allowed himself to be pulled into a hungry, messy kiss. The medic didn’t seem to mind that Drift hadn’t wiped his faceplates off yet; cleaning the mess off with long swipes of his glossa as Drift sheathed himself again in Ratchet’s frame with one smooth thrust.

Wary of pushing Ratchet into overload too soon, Drift rocked slowly, slipping easily through the soaking passage until his mod activated. This time he hadn’t had enough stimulation for even a minor overload so he got to enjoy every nuance of Ratchet’s reactions with clear processors, watching with satisfaction as the ambulance’s faceplates screwed up and he bit his bottom lip, writhing against Drift’s immobile frame in search of enough friction to tip him into overload.

A loud snarl of frustration left Ratchet’s vocaliser and Drift laughed low in his throat, effortlessly capturing the medic’s hands when Ratchet tried to reach between their frames. He pinned those marvellous hands on either side of Ratchet’s helm, stretched out over his mate with not a millimetre of space between them, holding him by the wrists and nuzzling the aroused and furious mech’s nasal ridge with his own.

By the time his knot deflated enough for Drift to start moving again the mech beneath him was boiling, panting through his mouth to supplement his cooling systems. From the quivering of his valve Drift could tell that Ratchet was close, his throaty moans of relief as Drift started to move again nearly sent Drift into overload before he was ready. He gritted his denta, rolling his hips slowly, gliding easily through the frantic clutching of Ratchet’s valve, grinding against the red hips that twitched desperately up to meet him. Great spurts of lubricants and other fluids were surging from Ratchet’s valve with each inward push, drying quickly on the medic’s hot plating and scenting the room with a delicious metallic tang that had Drift considering another round of oral.

_I_ love _the way we taste all mixed together like that_.

“So, you want me to keep going?” The speedster asked sweetly, pushing his aching spike as deeply as he could and holding back his impending overload through sheer force of will. “Or would you like an overload now?”

Ratchet was incredibly wet, between his lubricants and Drift’s ejaculate it was almost frictionless as the speedster thrust slowly, waiting for a reply. No matter how tightly Ratchet clenched around him he was able to slip effortlessly through, feeling the ripple of callipers parting smoothly around him to massage the length of his spike when he entered and tighten in an attempt to keep him inside when he withdrew.

“One more, please?” Ratchet’s voice was glyph-shaped static, his fingers flexing uselessly above his helm. “One more then overload with me.”

“As you wish.”

It was good timing, Drift could feel the warning tingle of the code preparing to activate his mod. Two more long, luxurious thrusts and his spike was swelling, forcing him to stop. Ratchet shook beneath him; rough groans covered by the roar of his engine as Drift’s spike pumped another load of fluids into his overfull valve and forced the flexible passage to expand.

Cooling fans roared and both mechs panted through open mouths, Ratchet staring sightlessly up into Drift’s optics as his callipers rippled uselessly and drool ran from the corner of his mouth. As he appeared to have been rendered completely limp Drift propped himself up on his elbows and carefully wiped up the oral solvents dribbling down Ratchet’s cheek, bringing his helm back down to kiss the corners of his mate’s mouth. The movement shifted his spike within Ratchet and the medic choked on a whine, chasing after Drift’s mouth and catching it for a sloppy, hungry kiss.

By the time Drift’s knot started to deflate again he was more than ready to deactivate the mod coding and frag Ratchet through the berth. The pressure within Ratchet’s valve decreased with a rush as Drift’s knot shrank enough to allow the buildup of fluids to escape, flowing out to pour over red and white armour in a torrent of sticky heat.

“Ready to overload?” Drift asked, nuzzling his mate’s nasal ridge with his own.

“Frag _yes_.” Was the surprisingly energetic response.

Ratchet’s optics focused on him, a gleam of mischief in the bright blue was Drift’s only warning before he was flipped expertly onto his back, Ratchet somehow keeping Drift’s spike inside him throughout the manoeuvre.

“That coding off?” Ratchet asked briskly.

Drift nodded, mouth gone dry and vocaliser silenced by the sudden sensation of sticky liquid flowing over his armour and bared array.

The expression of almost feral delight on Ratchet’s face would have sent lesser mechanisms running for cover.

_Primus, he’s hotter than a smelter when he’s like this!_

“ _Good_.”

Then Ratchet started to move.

It was fast; faster than Drift had been going at the start and more forceful as well. Ratchet rode Drift’s spike in powerful, rolling surges, chasing down his overload with single-minded determination and pulling an unresisting Drift along for the ride. Charge mounted in a dizzying rush as Drift set his heels on the berth and started thrusting up to meet the ambulance, the sticky clap of metal on metal beating a suggestive rhythm through their roaring engines and wordless grunts of pleasure. Somehow his hands found Ratchet’s hips and Drift didn’t try to guide him; he just held on, feeling the vibration of their engines nearly shaking him apart.

Red hands covered his, peeled them off pounding hips and suddenly Ratchet was pressing words into his hands, beautiful words that turned into jumbled nonsense as the medic’s frame seized and he overloaded with a keening scream. Drift’s overload burst through him like a supernova, released charge filling him with light and fire and the feeling of falling as his gyros glitched for a second as they always did during a particularly strong overload.

It didn’t worry him at all; Ratchet was right there and would always catch him.

Something hot and wet splashing over his chin brought Drift back to reality. More wetness dribbled over his chestplate and he cycled his optics a few times, somehow managing to focus on Ratchet's slowly deflating spike as it splattered a last few halfhearted drops of silvery fluid over Drift’s striped abdominal armour.

Drift couldn’t help himself.

“Oops.”

He tried, he really _really_ tried but he just couldn’t keep in the giggles that spilled from his vocaliser as he spoke again.

“Looks like we made a bit of a mess.”

Still seated on his spike, Ratchet gave Drift an incredulous look that just made him laugh harder.

“It finally happened.” The medic said rhetorically, raising his optics to the ceiling and sighing dramatically. “I’ve broken you; gone and fragged your brain module loose. I _warned_ you it would happen but you wouldn’t listen to me. And _now_ look where we are.”

“In the berth.” Drift giggle-snorted as the word ‘berth’ connected to something else in his overload-fuzzed mind. “Almost _through_ the berth.”

Sighing, Ratchet slowly lifted up off Drift’s flaccid spike and crawled from the berth.

“Come on, you giggling horror; we need to get this cleaned up so we can recharge.”

“But it took so much _work_ to get this messy.” Drift rolled to his side and aimed his best turbopup optics at Ratchet. The effect was somewhat ruined by the way he was still shaking with laughter. “I don’t want to waste all that effort.”

One quick movement and Drift found himself tossed over a blocky red shoulder to be carted off to the washracks, audials filled with the rumbling laugh of his mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucked-silly Drift makes an appearance.  
> Who knows, maybe one day they actually WILL end up through the berth? XD

**Author's Note:**

> *checks ferry tickets to hell* Ooooooh, I've got enough stubs for a free pie! XD


End file.
